


Out loud

by SweetSirius



Series: Reaching out, reining in [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Mild Smut, Three Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 07:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSirius/pseuds/SweetSirius
Summary: For two people who spent most of their lives not letting their emotions show, saying the words out loud is a fairly big deal.A brief continuation of "If".





	Out loud

 

She steps into the hotel room and can’t help smiling. It’s beautiful. It’s lovely and spacious and clean and warmly lit, with a pillowy white queen bed and soft furnishings selected expressly for comfort. Everything about it is welcoming, from the kitten-soft, deep-pile rug under her feet to the bronze silk curtains falling to the floor in gleaming pools of fabric either side of the windows. It’s not quite the grand luxury penthouse suite she had half-expected from him, and she wonders if he selected it for her benefit – her tastes had never risen to quite the extravagance that his had.

But then she sees the view.

It’s enough to distract her from her urge to jump straight onto the bed and bury herself in its covers. Instead she walks slowly to the floor-to-ceiling windows and lays a hand on the cool glass.

Across the water the Manhattan skyline stretches before them, while the starry lights of the city dance in the river between them. They are cut off from the rest of the world, the only two here, looking out. Hidden and seductively peaceful.

“You like it?”

She spins around and sees him leaning against the wall by the door, watching her with a lopsided smile.

She nods, still taken aback. “I like it,” she says quietly, but her smile is wide.

Pleased, he walks towards her, and as he reaches her she turns to the window; his hands slide around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. Her insides swoop and her eyes slip shut – even now the way he holds her sends a shiver of pleasure through her. More than that – it’s the almost complete absence of barriers between them, the exposure of feelings long ignored.

His breath is warm on the skin of her neck and she sinks back into him, letting out a sigh of contentment. She places her hands over his, links their fingers.

“You know I’d have been happy staying at your place. You didn’t have to do all this for me.” She can almost hear him smirk.

“Who says it’s for you?” he teases, and she laughs softly. His arms tighten around her. “You said all you wanted was no responsibilities, no distractions, a comfortable bed. This place has excellent room service, there’s a do-not-disturb sign on our door, and the beds have one of the highest ratings in New York.”

He says it in a way that is so exacting, so factual, so methodical, that she’s sure a lot of people would miss the absolute romance of the gesture. He’s given her exactly what she wants, what she needs, and found a way to turn those simple requests into something utterly beautiful.

Also, the way he said “our door” is making her insides swoop again.

It's been a little over two weeks since he'd first kissed her, in that dark corner of the hallway outside the new IAB chief's welcome party. About half that since she managed to stop self-sabotaging long enough to admit that she wanted him. The days between have been filled with coffee and texts and phone calls and dinners and goofy smiles (but never when he can see her). And kissing, yes. A _lot_ of that. Although maybe not as much as either of them would like. Life with an eight-year-old puts a slight damper on what might otherwise be a no-holds-barred grope-fest, and they were taking it slowly with Noah, who nevertheless seemed delighted to have Uncle Rafa around more.

Not that taking it slow doesn't have its positives. She's learning _that_ the nice way.

But tonight they're alone. 

She turns around in his arms to face him, reaching up to wrap her own arms around his neck. “You, Rafael Barba, are a secret romantic.”

He’s smiling, taking in her face with that look of his that she loves. “Not so secret these days,” he murmurs, and then he inches closer and starts swaying them, as though they are dancing. He starts to hum softly and rubs his nose against hers. She lets her eyes close at his touch; she loves the way he does this, these little ways of making contact, in their own way just as intimate as kissing. Speaking of which …

He lets his lips brush against hers, but when she leans forward to meet him he pulls back a little, grinning at her eagerness. She opens her eyes and, seeing his expression, gives him a playful glare. It only makes him smile wider, then he reaches up to slide his fingers in her hair, closing the distance between them and kissing her properly; soft, slow, unhurried.

She doesn’t know it, but he’s living out one of his fantasies right now. This one is from a few years back, when he was still with the DA. That day he had stepped outside the courtroom and seen her down the hallway, speaking with Tucker. The twinge of dislike was at that point almost easy to ignore – he hadn’t even rolled his eyes. Glancing between them and his phone, he had seen _her_ smile, seen _him_ drop a quick kiss on her mouth before walking away down the corridor. Beyond a raised eyebrow it hadn’t left much of an impression on him – it was a busy day, and there was once again more than humanly possible to do. But that night, as he stretched his arms behind his head and let his body relax into his bed, the memory had resurfaced unexpectedly, and the thought had materialised unbidden:

_If I were kissing her, I’d do it slowly, in a dark room, and with all the time in the world._

Kissing was, Rafael had long believed, an underrated art form. So often a means to an end – a quick hello, a hasty goodbye, a thank you, an obligation, a precursor to sex. But with the right person, with the right intention, it could communicate more than a book of sonnets. It could be exquisite, extraordinary, fun, playful, surprising …

That had been his working theory, anyway, and how utterly delightful to find it proving itself right here in this dimly lit hotel room in Brooklyn.

He draws her lower lip briefly between his, thrills at how she responds. Flicking his tongue against hers, he slides his fingers against the grain of her hair and draws from her a soft little moan. From the beginning, kissing her has been like fire, like falling, like coming home. Which isn’t the same as feeling unruffled – it’d be hard to be, the way she’s kissing him back, the way she slides one hand around the back of his neck to play with his hair, the way the other rests on his chest, her fingers digging gently against his muscles.

At long last, and smiling softly, he pulls gently back from her lips and rests his forehead against hers.

She lets out another contented sigh. “That was nice,” she murmurs, her voice husky.

“Mmm,” he agrees, low in his throat. He’s fighting with parts of himself and enjoying the battle. She draws herself closer to him, and he knows she must be able to feel how aroused he’s getting, but he finds that he’s not at all embarrassed – he wants her to know what she does to him. He meets her eyes and sees them flash with unchecked desire.

“So,” she says, leaning back to look at him properly. “We’ve had an amazing dinner, you’ve brought me to this incredible room … What _are_ we going to do next?”

He grins at her, adoring the sight of her enjoying herself, even at his expense. He reaches up to slide a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I want to tell you something.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Sounds serious.”

But he’s still smiling. “I want to tell you something, and I don’t want you to say anything at all in response.”

“What?”

His smile widens. “You heard me.”

Now her brow is furrowing. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me you broke something expensive? Are we going to have to work off the price of this room in the kitchen?”

He laughs, but keeps looking at her like she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“Seriously, Rafa, you’re kinda weirding me out. What is it, you’re secretly a republican?” She gives a mock-gasp.

He narrows his eyes at her, still enjoying the banter. “Will you shut up for a minute?”

She chuckles and settles in his arms, reaching up again to play with the hair at the back of his neck. It is not unpleasant. “Ok, ok. Sorry.” She’s beaming up at him, and for a moment he just looks at her.

“Are you planning on–”

“I love you, Liv.”

It’s soft and sincere, and it stops her in her tracks. Maybe it shouldn’t have, maybe it should be moot at this point. But it does stop her; her breath catches, her heart skips. She stares at him, searching his eyes for confirmation, but sees only certainty, warmth … She opens her mouth with no real plan for what comes next, but he cuts her off again.

“Ah-ah – I mean it. I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to know. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

He’s still looking at her with that _look_ … and now she finally knows what it means. She wonders how easy, how hard this was for him to say, how many times, if ever, he’s said it before. She knows he doesn’t tend towards the vulnerable; the fact that he lets his guard down with her has been something she has always treasured about their friendship. And this … opening your heart to someone is about as vulnerable as it gets.

She ought to know.

She feels her eyes begin to sting with emotion, and ducks her head. “Rafa …”

“Shh.” He brushes her hair from her face tenderly, touches his lips to her forehead, leaving a trail of soft, slow kisses on her warm skin. She lifts her head and his mouth drifts down over her cheeks, her jaw, brushing slowly against her lips …

She can’t help it. She can feel the old fear rising, although at this point it’s mostly automatic. She looks up at him again, and as soon as she does, as soon as she’s searching those intense green eyes of his, something deep and warm and thrilling fills her whole body.

She’s not sure exactly what it means, and right now she doesn’t want to look too closely. He’s made sure she doesn’t need to. On the other hand … she doesn’t want to step out of this moment just yet.

_Well_ , she thinks, _if I’m not allowed to say anything_ …

She reaches up to brush his hair with her fingertips, smiles and bites her lower lip when his eyes slip shut. _You are amazing_. Wordlessly, she pulls him to her and kisses him, deeply, sliding her fingers through his hair and feeling a ripple of pleasure at the growl this produces. She toes off her shoes, curls her fingers to grip the soft fabric of his sweater, and pulls him gently back towards the bed with her. He follows willingly, his hands already reaching up to slide her zipper down her back, sliding inside her dress to run along the bare skin of her back, his lips and tongue are on her neck, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

 

She may have found her favourite place in the world. Its precise location, it turns out, is lying next to him, her head on his chest, just below his shoulder, her fingers splayed out on his midsection, his arm around her, his breath tickling her hair. Her body regaining equilibrium.

The curtains are still open, and the city lights are still dancing in the water, softer for the space between them.

It’s really quite tempting. To say something.

“Don’t.”

It’s said quietly, with a smile, which is just like him. She tips her head up to look at him.

“What?”

The corner of his mouth quirks with amusement. “You were about to say something.”

She’s half enchanted, half infuriated by his ability to predict her.

“I didn’t say anything!”

He’s almost grinning now, his eyes full of mirth. “You were about to.”

She leans towards enchanted, unsuccessfully attempting to bite back a smile. “ _Such_ a smartass.”

He laughs.

She shifts so that her chin is resting on his chest, the better to look at him. “Why don’t you want me to?” It’s pure curiosity asking – she doesn’t even know what she wants to say, or _if_ she wants to attempt it.

He just smiles at her. “I don’t want you to worry about whether or not you’re there yet.” He strokes her hair with slow, languid movements. “I’m not after a _quid pro quo_ here. I just don’t ever want you to wonder how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, enjoying his fingers in her hair.

Very, very tempting.

Instead, she lays her cheek back on his chest and savours the feeling of his hands on her, the rise and fall of his breathing below her, steady and strong and punctuated by his heartbeat. She reaches out and takes his other hand in hers, tangling their fingers so that he’ll give them the same attention as her hair.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to sleep in my own bed after this,” she murmurs.

“I told you it was highly rated.”

“Mmm,” she hums lazily. “It’s not just the bed.”

His hands pause in her hair. “Liv …” he grumbles, but she knows he’s smiling.

“I’m just letting you know how much I’m enjoying this. Should you feel like recreating the tableau another time. Say, at my apartment.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and she smiles to herself, knowing he’s connecting the dots. At length, he asks, “Is this your way of asking me to stay over?”

She lifts her head to look at him, and is about to respond with teasing, but changes her mind. “Yes.”

It’s the most she is certain of, that she wants to be with him more, to have him stay with her and Noah, to wake up next to him. She wants the three of them to eat dinner, watch mindless TV, make breakfast together. It still makes her nervous to want these things, these idyllic, almost embarrassing moments. But she does want them.

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes brighten, and she knows he’s happy with her answer. His reply is just as straightforward as hers. “All right.”

Another surge of happiness rushes through her, and she pushes herself up off of him so that she can kiss him, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. Feeling energised, she sits up and straddles him, resting her hands on his chest for balance. She bends down to kiss his neck, nipping gently against his skin. She can already feel his body responding.

He chuckles softly. “You don’t have to keep–”

She’s ready for this, and cuts him off quickly. “I think,” she says between kisses, “I can assure you _without reservation_ that my wanting to have sex with you is _completely_ independent of anything you’ve said tonight.” She raises herself up again and smiles down at him, sees in his eyes just how she is affecting him, and revels in it.

“As long as we’re clear on that.” He’s aiming for sarcastic, but his breath is coming in shudders.

She silences him with a finger to his lips. “Maybe now it’s time for _you_ to stop talking,” she whispers with a playful, affectionate smile. That smile broadens when he takes her finger gently between his teeth and, keeping his eyes locked on hers, flicks his tongue against it. She leans down to kiss him, hungrily, relishing the touch of his hands on her bare back, rocking her hips and drawing from him the kind of growl that resonates deep within her.

It is a _very_ comfortable bed.

 

It’s maybe the fourth time he’s stayed over, and by now he’s familiarised himself with the nighttime routine. Fridays are movie nights, and after Noah has a bath he’s allowed to choose something from the endless supply of entertainment that Pixar puts out. Olivia has been subtly steering him away from _Frozen_ , because there is only so much that she thinks Rafael will stand. (He hasn’t said anything, but she’s noticed a vein in his neck starts to pulse whenever the opening notes are played.)

And so Noah has been bathed, and because Rafael cooked, Olivia is clearing up in the kitchen while the boys settle down in the living room.

Rafael, dressed in sweats and thick socks, is on the couch, his legs stretched along the cushions. He’s watching Noah stage a battle between an allosaurus and something he’s been repeatedly told is _not_ , in fact, a dinosaur, but a Charmander. Whatever that is. Either way he’s enjoying the show, and offering suggestions every now and then, as well as commentary, including voices.

“Allosaurus goes for the juggler!” Noah cries out in triumph.

“Jugular,” says Rafa. “And he misses because Charmander jumps into a nearby river and swims away!”

Noah laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. “He can’t _swim_!”

Rafael pretends to consult a clipboard. “Uh, yes, yes he can. He has the proper permits.”

As Noah collapses into giggles, Liv appears beside him holding one glass of wine and one of scotch. He looks up at her, already beaming, to see her eyes full of mirth.

She shakes her head and hands him the drink. “Having fun?”

“It’s not about fun, Liv, it’s a matter of life and death.”

She laughs. He loves it when he makes her laugh. “Have a seat.”

“Yeah, I would, if you weren’t taking up the whole couch.”

He shifts closer to the back of the couch so that there is room beside him, and sees her press her lips together to suppress a grin. To his delight she plays along, and settles in beside him, leaning back against his chest and drawing her legs up as well. He moves to admit her body into his space, pausing to kiss the back of her head. Her scent envelops him, calming and quickening him at the same time. He takes a quick sip of scotch, then twists around and manages to deposit the glass on the side table without changing their position. She grabs the remote.

“What do you think, Noah, time for _Zootopia_?”

An enthusiastic response, and Noah scootches around the coffee table so that he can play with his toys while he watches. Rafael feels Olivia relax against him, and his cynical nature is no match for the wave of contentment that washes over him. Noah begins his commentary – he likes to point out anything funny that’s happening, and despite all expectations Rafael finds this highly amusing. He drops a hand to rest on Olivia’s thigh, and almost absently begins running his fingers up and down the thin fabric of her sweats.

“Watch this! Watch this!” Noah has evidently seen this movie before, and is eager that the others not miss a moment. The fact that his eagerness prevents this from happening just makes Rafael want to laugh.

“Calm down, amigo,” he chuckles. “I’m watching, I promise!”

On TV, the joke lands, and Noah tumbles about giggling, and Rafael laughs along with him.

“You are _loco_ , kid,” he says, but there’s nothing but warmth in his voice. He wonders what his past self would have thought of this scene. Such domesticity, such a simple sum: one plus two is three. And yet it’s so much more than its parts. Deep inside, a voice whispers: “home”.

And right in the middle of a song, as Noah makes his toys bop along in time, it happens.

“I love you.”

It’s spoken so softly that for a second he thinks he’s imagined it. Suddenly his whole body is awake and thrumming with energy, but he wills himself to be still. _Calm down_ , he tells himself, _she could be talking to Noah_. But somehow he knows she wasn’t. Though he can’t see her face, she tips her head slightly in his direction, and it’s clear that it can only have been directed at him.

_She loves you._

The funny thing is, he knows it – it’s not always easy to believe, but he _knows_ it. It's just this is the first time she’s said it out loud.

His heart and mind are racing, one bursting with tenderness, the other darting from one thought to another, and always back to that beautiful, central knowledge:

_She loves you_.

He knows her. He knows she’s had a rough relationship with love. So much of it to give, but so cautious in relinquishing parts of herself to another. Trust has always been a struggle, and given her past there is good reason for that. For her, saying those words aloud is much more than an offhand remark. But she’s said them. To him.

It’s enough to make a man glad for all the moments of his life that have led to this one. Even the bad ones.

But he also knows she doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so instead of taking out a full-page ad in the _Times_ , he leans in gently and kisses her softly on the shoulder, lingering a little on the bare skin near her neck.

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He feels her relax again, leaning back against his chest. He wonders if she can feel his heart thumping. Probably not, but then she probably doesn’t need to feel it to know what this means to him.

They sit and watch, and laugh at Noah’s antics. Suppressing a grin, he turns to bury his nose in her hair, to breathe her in.

_She loves you_.


End file.
